John's Tough Day
by Farm-Mom
Summary: More adventures of John and Buck as little boys.


John was at a loss. He'd been able to think his way through nearly every situation he'd ever encountered, but right now, his thoughts were too jumbled. He hadn't started that fight, but he was sure to be the one paying for the damage. Who would ever believe that a five-year-old could start a school-yard brawl? Not just a school-yard brawl, but one that included every pupil right down to the smallest and even the teacher's pet. No, Pa surely wouldn't believe it. Heck, John saw it all and still couldn't believe it. John was pretty sure Pa wouldn't leave any hide on John's backside when he was done with him. Why shoot, he'd be lucky if the teacher left anything for Pa to whip. The man looked none too amused.

Looking around, John figured he'd not be happy if he was the teacher either. How could one little boy be so destructive? The whole thing happened in a couple minutes, at most. Desks were knocked over, some even broken, and ink was everywhere. John had never seen a real tornado before, but figured he was looking at what a place might look like afterward. Dread, shame, and anger all welled up inside him and he looked around for the little tornado who started this disaster. While the object of his search wasn't found right away, John noticed that the window nearest the teacher's desk was broken. How in the world did that happen? John decided that maybe he just didn't want to know. The sooner this whole thing was behind him, the better – if he survived at all.

John's attention turned to the back of the room where the teacher was standing and starting to speak. His voice sounded serious but his shirt was covered in ink speckles, his hair was all messed up, his face was a dark shade of red, and the leg of his trousers had a big hole in the knee. John was trying to remember exactly when the teacher got involved, but the details remained foggy. He hated to think the man looked like that without having been directly involved. Mr Jordan started pacing as he spoke, and John noticed the remains of Mabel's cream puff on the back of his head. The cream was sticking to his hair and bits of the crust were hanging on to the back of his shirt. It would have been funny if Mr Jordan hadn't been so angry.

John heard a snicker and then a giggle to his right. Artie Simpson. Of course he would be the one to laugh. He was the biggest person at the school; even bigger than Mr Jordan. John was tall for his age, but would probably never have Artie's girth. Artie wasn't big for his age, he was just a little old for school. He was 19 now, but his Pa said he had to stay in school till he could pass the graduation test. So far, all he'd managed to do was outgrow every desk; but his Pa was persistent and made Artie a bigger desk so he could keep going to school. Everybody knew that Artie was never going to pass that test and his Pa sent him to school so he wasn't at home. They didn't live on a farm like most families around and Artie was just a nuisance in the family's store. "Like a bull in a china shop", John's ma told them. John felt sorry for Artie, especially now. Mr Jordan's glare and the vein throbbing on his temple were not good signs. John didn't know if Artie couldn't control his laughter or just didn't care, because the fellow was nearly doubling over by now. He sincerely hoped that Mr Jordan took out his anger on Artie and went easier on the rest, but somehow he doubted that would be the case.

John heard a smack and his attention was drawn back to Mr Jordan, who'd picked up the paddle and slapped it onto his desk. Having left the paddle on the desk, he turned to the students, still all standing in various places around the room. His shouted command was almost painful to hear, "Take your seats!" He normally ended that command with "Please", but not this time. John's dread got even deeper as he found his seat. It had some of Mabel's creampuff on it, but John dared not take the time to wipe it off. He sat down on the squishy goo and felt it oozing through his trousers. That was better than the licking he was likely to get from Pa's strap. His bottom grew warm thinking about the last time he got into so much trouble. He'd had trouble sitting for a while, but that mistake had not been repeated; and now he was likely to get it again for something he didn't do. Looking around for his little brother again, he found him sitting at his desk, holding his slate, which was in pieces.


End file.
